#also as a bonus fun fact I pictured her hair as being dyed some bright color but didn’t want to break grayscale

[foldingfittedsheets]

Someone described the light haired witch in the comic as the Waistcoat Potato Witch.

So that’s gonna live rent free in my head.

[janiedean]

... the tyrion/sansa hairdresser/mortician au no one was expecting but happened

well @meri-vaahtoaa I TOLD YOU IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN TODAY AND IT HAPPENED, have a for now untitled tyrion/sansa mortician/hairdresser au inspired by this post with bonus guest star jeyne p. u___u don't look for angst, also extremely background mentioned jb plus jaime & bronn being themselves in the backstory, have fun u__u

This fucking teaches me to be drunk around both my brother and Bronn, Tyrion thinks for the umpteenth time as he keeps on walking - he needs a damned salon and he needs it now but he also had to get out of the neighborhood because like hell he’s going to risk running into anyone who knows his father. That’s the… least thing he needs, honestly, as if his life choices aren’t already something he has to fight for every other moment and he can’t fucking wait to be out of the house, which should be soon -

If he doesn’t get thrown out of his internship because of his horrible drunk choices.

Why did they have drinks together, why did they have drunk bets, why did he bet with Jaime that he would dye his hair bright blue if he stopped beating around the bush and confessed to the bartender that he’s been into her since they started coming to that specific place for drinks because he chickened out of it for months, except -

Except Jaime went and did it and it turned out that she actually had been looking back and Tyrion hadn’t been wrong in that assessment, but then he had to do it and he actually went and used a do it yourself dye and -

Well.

He honestly can’t go and start his apprenticeship with blue hair that’s also… well, not even professionally dyed, and considering the arguments that it created the least thing he needs is going somewhere he’d be recognized.

So, he’s plenty out of the neighborhood, but he hasn’t found someplace that felt… well, not extra fancy. The second-least thing he needs is extra fancy shops where people would send looks his way that he could absolutely do without.

Also, it’s fucking hot. Why did he do that in the middle of summer again? And why couldn’t he have bet something more reasonable - right, it was Bronn’s idea and they were drunk. Fuck.

He walks a bit more, wondering if maybe he should sit down and check on Google Maps if he’s ended up in the only area of the city that doesn’t have any, and then he sees one on the other side of the road - fine, he stopped because he wondered who names a hair salon Beauty and the Beast, but it costs nothing to have a look from the outside, right?

He crosses the street and walks up to the door.

First thing, the pricing list outside it looks… well, it’s not cheap, but it’s certainly not the ridiculous fares they ask where his sister goes to have her hair done, which is exceedingly good since he doesn’t want to spend a salary’s worth of an average office employee to get that blue crap out of his hair. He looks through the glass door - there is just one woman inside getting her hair done, which is also good because the least people around the shorter the wait, it certainly does look clean and while the pastel aesthetic is maybe a bit too much for his tastes - everything is a pastel shade, from the light yellow on the floor to the pale pink and violet of the chairs and the powder blue of the walls… well, beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to it, and the woman on the chair is chatting amicably with the chestnut-haired girl doing her hair and doesn’t look like she hates being there or like she chose the wrong shop.

Also, it’s two PM and he knows this is going to take long. He can hardly afford to fuck around much longer.

He pushes the door open and walks into the shop.

“Welcome!” The chestnut-haired girl says, giving him a nice smile. “Sorry if I don’t come over, but if you sit for a minute my colleague will be back from her coffee break shortly.”

“Sure,” he says, “no hurry,” and he goes sitting on one of the pale violet chairs on the side - they’re comfortable, at least, and he considers taking out the book he brought with to pass the time, but then -

“Hello and welcome! Can I get you a glass of water” Someone else chirps from his side, and right, he did hear the door open -

Oh.

“Hi,” he blurts, staring into a pair of lovely blue eyes belonging to supposedly the other girl working here - she has long auburn hair styled in a french braid and is wearing a blue summer dress that pairs with her eyes perfectly and she’s smiling down at him as if she’s not horrified by his horrid dye-job, or by his presence in the first place, which is his general experience in this kind of shops, so - that’s good, at least. “And uh, thanks,” he says, realizing he is thirsty.

“Be right back! Sorry, I was taking my break but we have no appointments today, so I’ll be on your case very soon.”

She goes to the corner of the room and grabs a glass of water from a dispenser, then brings it to him - shit, he needed it.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Er,” he says, “I dyed that hair for a bet but I was called for an internship yesterday, and I start on Monday, so… I need a removal. If it’s possible.”

The girl leans closer, taking a good look at his hair.

“Hm,” she says, “it might take a while, but I think it’s possible. It’s not a very good dye job, if I can say so.”

He snorts. “Oh, you can. Please, I did it and I have regretted it every moment since.”

“Well,” she nods, “you’re lucky that most likely no one will show up for anything complicated today then. Jeyne, can you handle other customers in case?”

“Sure,” the chestnut-haired girl replies. “As if I don’t know you’ll have the time of your life.”

She rolls her eyes, then goes to a wardrobe in the corner and finds him a towel, tucks it around his neck and lowers a chair near the small sinks at the bottom of the shop so he can sit on it - he does, feeling extremely thankful that it’s extremely comfortable leather, and he can hear her tutting about bad dyes under her breath as she washes his hair once, twice, thrice, and her fingers feel really good on his scalp but he’s not going to think about that now.

“Just for the record,” she asks as she rinses it, “do you just want the dye to go away or do you want a cut, too?”

“Hell,” he says, “I need to look presentable. I suppose the cut can’t hurt.”

“Will do,” she chirps again, “and by the way, never use that kind of dye again. Not with hair this nice.”

Tyrion would have toppled off the chair if his head wasn’t thrown too far back for it to happen.

“I have nice hair now?”

“You can feel it,” she replies, “under all this… this,” she says, shaking her head.

“I know,” he says, “bad choices.”

“Extremely,” she goes on, rinsing. “But don’t you worry. I’ll have it fixed.”

“Really,” chestnut-haired girl says, “Sansa is a pro with that kind of thing. You’re in good hands.”

Oh. So her name is Sansa. It’s pretty, he thinks.

“Well,” he says, “I can’t wait to see how you manage it. I’m Tyrion, by the way. Figures you should know if I know yours?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she goes on, and gives his hair a last rinse. “Right, can you move forward?” He does and she dries his hair with the towel, then goes to find a mantel that somehow he doesn’t drown in. “Please,” she says, “on whichever free chair you prefer.”

He picks an empty one two spots away from Jeyne and the other woman and lowers it so he can sit down, and then Sansa raises it up again until his still sadly blue head is at the right height.

“Hm,” she says, grabbing a lock and feeling it between her fingers, “from what I see here you’re a natural blonde?”

“Sort of,” he shrugs. He is - his hair isn’t as golden as his siblings’, but it definitely is on that shade. Not that he ever bothered to look into it. “Wait,” he says, fishing into his pocket, and then he grabs his phone and shows her a picture Bronn took of him and Jaime during Tyrion’s latest birthday party which is about the only one of his he’s kept there where you can see his actual color very well. She takes it, squints, zooms on his head, then nods and hands him back the phone.

“Well,” she says, “we’re going to have to use a color remover to take out the blue pigment, then apply some more pigment to allow for the proteins in the hair to adhere to it. Then… yeah, possibly mix a few different types of toners to reach the goal of your natural hair color, and it’s going to take a while, but we should get there. Nothing that terrible.”

“Er,” he blurts, “how much chemistry did you have to study to get there?”

She smiles a bit wider.

“Yeah, I know, but some people don’t like if we talk like that. It makes it sound complicated, I’m told.”

“Not at all,” he says, waiting as Jeyne, who has finished the other woman’s hair, goes to the back room to presumably get Sansa at least the color remover, “not like it’s not… sort of my thing, too,” he says, and then he bites his own tongue - why did he ever do that, now she’s going to decide he’s a creep or something -

“Really,” she says as Jeyne comes back and hands her the remover, “do lean your head back. And what it is that you do?”

He takes a deep breath and tells her.

—

“Oh, so you’re a mortician?” Sansa says happily as she keeps on applying the remover to his hair, her fingers pressing along his scalp as she rubs it in. To her credit, she doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s creepy.

“Well, apprentice,” he shrugs, “but yeah, working on it. And starting an internship soon. Where I can’t… look like this. But yes. Just going through my degree - I had a final a couple days ago. Fuck, it was so embarrassing.”

“Did they judge your hair?”

“Called it apocalyptic, but I aced it.”

“Nice. What was it about?”

“Embalming, mostly,” he sighs. “All the chemistry about formadelhyde I had to learn.”

“Fun fact,” Sansa grins, “do you know they use it in clothing?”

… He somehow had not known that.

“What? Really? They forgot to cover that part.”

“Well,” Sansa says, “I used to crash fashion school lessons, my brother’s boyfriend snuck me in. I learned a lot. I think it’s because of the preserving qualities, though I’m sure it wasn’t… all of it.”

“I mean,” Tyrion blurts, “it’s a preservative but it’s also a disinfectant. Destroys bacteria and their food supply, and it’s a dehydrator, there’s a reason why we use it that much.”

“Hm,” Sansa nods, starting to put aluminium stripes on his hair - fuck, he looks ridiculous like this, “one wonders why you don’t just use alcohol then? Because I thought it was kind of carcinogen.”

Well, she did listen to those lessons for sure.

“It’s cheaper,” Tyrion sighs, “a lot cheaper. It cuts costs. Guess I’ll resign myself to the cancer risk.”

She snorts. “Please,” she says, keeping on placing those stripes carefully, “I’m pretty sure that’s exaggerating a bit. There, they should rest for half an hour. I have to place a few calls now but if you want to read while I’m at it feel free to, just don’t move your head around too much.”

“Roger that,” Tyrion nods, and settles back in the chair.

He has a feeling it’s going to be long, but at least she’s very good company. Jeyne looks about to say something but then another woman comes in the shop and she goes to greet her, and Tyrion goes back to his Chinese sci-fi book that he’s really enjoying and hopes that at the end of it he doesn’t have to shave his head because that dye was that bad.

—

Half an hour later, after washing away the remover, Sansa has moved on to applying the first round of pigment to his hair - the blue did go out, but it still looks…. well. Bad. He can see it just looking at it in the mirror.

“So, she says, “is your internship at a funeral home?”

“Yes,” he replies, “it’s during the last six months of the degree, then you write your thesis and you get your license, and honestly, it’s a nice funeral home. I hope they hire me for good. Anyway, it makes sense. We need to have… experiences with, uh, cases, you know, uh -“

“You can say bodies,” Sansa grins brightly, “it’s fine. I know what you do in funeral homes.”

“Oh, thank God,” he blurts. “I’m sorry, uh, people tend to get queasy when I mention them. The bodies, I mean.”

“That sounds nonsensical,” Sansa shrugs, “what do people think happens when they die? Anyway, you can absolutely say that. Hm, here we go, I think these can stay. Another… yeah. Half-hour, forty-five minutes? Get yourself comfortable. I’ll go mix those toners meanwhile.”

Oh. Right. The toners. Fuck, he can’t wait for this entire dye business to be over. Honestly, he hasn’t done that when he was fifteen, he should have stuck with it.

He grabs his book back and starts reading it again, except that he finds himself wishing he could chat with Sansa some more and he needs to get that thought out of his head right now, no reason to set himself up for failure.

He reads on.

—

Later, she’s washed his hair again and she’s still mixing the toners.

“Yeah,” she says, “I think this need a bit more work, but I’m curious. Is there anything you don’t like about your school? Because you sounded really excited before.”

Did I, Tyrion thinks, but then again… he almost never talks about it to anyone except Jaime or Bronn because everyone else thinks it’s morbid, and somehow this girl who owns a wholly pastel shop actually seems to enjoy discussing the topic, so why the hell not?

“I mean,” he says, “I think we should do autopsies.”

“Oh, you don’t? I’d have expected it.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, “me too, and I think we should for, you know, completion and so on, but we don’t, so I guess I’ll read up on it.”

“But,” she says, “hypothetically,” and she’s kind of smiling slyly, what, “let’s say that someone wakes up while embalming them. What do you do then?”

“I mean,” Tyrion replies, slowly, “I think there’s a pretty huge difference between a living body and a dead one?”

“Sansa, please,” Jeyne says as she combs through the hair of the other woman, who looks… a tiny bit disturbed, but neither Jeyne nor Sansa are, so… who cares. right?, “never mind that you need a bit more toner, but I think there’s a thing named rigor mortis that’d make it pretty fucking obvious.”

“That,” Tyrion replies, “also if one gets stuck in a fridge for a few days I think you’d be dead anyway. Not to be, you know, morbid.”

Sansa mixes a bit more toner and smiles wider. Right. She was so fucking with him. “I mean, you did pump them full of carcinogen just before, right?”

“Right,” he laughs as she tells him to lean back and starts applying the toner to his poor roots, “we did, technically.”

“Just stay still,” she goes on, “it’ll be another hour, I think. Then I can cut.”

Well, he decides, at least this entire process is being not overtly miserable.

He leans back and lets her apply the toner and then cover it with the aluminium stripes all over again.

—

“So,” she says later while Jeyne is going through the third client of the day and he’s sitting on the chair again after his hair was thoroughly rinsed and washed for the umpteenth time — he lost count, honestly, but now it does look like his usual shade, sort of, he thinks, “can I ask what was this infamous bet about? Also, I can see your hair is naturally wavy — should I just trim the edges? Because I can see you cut it yourself and it’s not bad but you kind of hacked at them.”

“Er, yes,” he says, “sounds good. Wait, naturally wavy?”

“It is,” she says, “I can recognize it.”

“I, uh,” he coughs, “I don’t think I ever had it long enough to notice?”

“It’s the exact same as your brother’s,” she shrugs, “just a bit darker, but again, this should tide you over for a while. I mean, by the time it wears off whatever travesty you did to your hair in the first place should be fixed and it’ll be as before and no one will notice.”

“Then - I guess you can trim only and I’ll see,” he says, his throat suddenly feeling dry. No one ever compared him to Jaime in that sense without making it… well. About how he’s not the person with the good looks in the family, so this entire thing is just - weird. “Anyway, uh, you can ask about the bet. I mean, it’s just embarrassing.”

“I’m listening,” she says, cutting the edges of his hair slowly, and surely she puts a lot more thought it in than he does while cutting it, but then again… it’s her job and he learned because he didn’t want his father’s barber to go near his head.

“Er, so,” he clears his throat again, trying to figure out how to tell her the sanitized version of it while sparing her from all the family ugliness, “I was out drinking with the brother and the best friend at the same bar we’ve been going to for months because they have good drinks and the brother absolutely had a crush on the bartender, except that he came from a, uh, toxic relationship, let’s put it like that, and I thought he wasn’t going to fess up ever, so - we were drunk and it came out and I said of course I’d dye my hair that horrid color if he fessed up to her and like, I thought he never would but he actually went and did it and — yeah. I mean, glad for him that it went well but not my greatest moment.”

“Aw,” Sansa replies, keeping on trimming, “I like a nice love story. I imagine he doesn’t share our interest in formadelhyde.”

Why does his heart beat a tiny bit faster when she says our interest?

“No,” Tyrion shakes his head, “he’s more into nerding over Middle Ages weapons, but at least he didn’t tell me Six Feet Under was boring, so.”

“I loved that show,” she replies, “who’d say it’s boring?”

“It’s my favorite,” he shrugs a bit as she puts away the scissors. “And a lot of people, but it seems like you have good taste.”

She nods as she grabs some lotion that she supposedly has to pass into his hair before drying it. “And what about you?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, he had a nice love story going into port, so what about you?”

“Er,” he hopes he’s not blushing, fuck, he’s usually not — he doesn’t fluster, fucking hell, “I — really am not looking. My family kind of… fucked up the only serious relationship I had going for me and most people get put off at the whole I want to be a mortician thing, so.”

“What kind of family fucks up relationships for other people?”

“The kind we come from,” he sighs, “but at least he’s out of that circus and I’ll be the moment I graduate.”

“Nice,” Sansa nods, “now just hold on a moment and I’m drying it.”

He nods — she grabs an hair dryer and starts blowing it and yes, he can see she got the exact shade right now that it’s not wet anymore, and — well, of course it’s her job to make it look good but the more she proceeds the nicer it looks, and now he can vaguely see what she meant when she talked about natural curls, and also… it feels fluffier? Lighter? He has no fucking clue, but the moment she’s finished — well.

“Fuck,” he admits, “I don’t think my hair ever looked this nice in my entire life.”

She grins. “I know how to do my job. Another moment.” She sprays some more lotion on her hands and runs it through his hair again. “This was just for a bit of nutriment, but there you are. You know, if you treat it a bit more nicely you might not need it me to make it look good.”

“Yeah, well, and what if I’d like to come back here instead?” He blurts, not knowing what the fuck he’s aiming for, but then she grins back a bit wider.

“I always like making new clients,” she replies, “especially when they’re cute and they don’t only want to talk about the gossip in magazines. That gets boring after a while.”

Wait, did she call him cute?

“Tell you what,” she keeps on as she takes the mantel off him and waits for him to get off the chair and follow her to the counter, “let’s say I don’t give all new clients a ten percent discount but I do give it to the ones I like.”

What the fuck —

“So, here you go.”

She hands him a receipt… with a fifteen per cent discount. “But you have to promise me you won’t use that crap dye anymore. That’s probably more cancer-inducing than formaldehyde could ever be.”

He has to laugh at that.

“Fair,” he says, “I won’t. Maybe I’ll come back before my last final. It’s two weeks from now,” he says, slowly, “I might want to look good for it. As much as it goes, anyway.”

“Oh, I’ll make you look incredible, don’t you worry.” She takes his card, swipes it, hands him the POS. He’s sure he doesn’t let it drop just out of sheer force of will. The payment goes through, she gives him his receipt and he pockets it, his hand still sweating —

“I’ll see you to the door,” she goes on, and she follows him out.

“So, Tyrion,” she grins again, “see you in two weeks?”

“Oh,” he replies, “absolutely.”

“And let me know how the internship thing works out. I like to know what’s up with the clients I like,” she winks, and then she leans down and kisses his cheek before going back into the shop.

Tyrion just stands there dumbfounded and only takes a few steps from the shop, and he didn’t mean to eavesdrop but he hears Jeyne the moment he starts walking away and —

“Sansa, I know you said you’d be forward after that asshole Harry, but I never saw you being that obvious. You really liked our mortician or what?”

“So what?” Sansa replies, and Tyrion thinks he’ll faint. “No point in playing hard to get and all. When he comes back I’m absolutely asking him out for coffee or something. I did like him.”

“Good for you,” Jeyne replies, “he seems nice and you deserve a nice guy. Even if that dye was a really crap choice on his part.”

“Oh, if I have a say in it no bad dye is ever coming near that hair. It was so nice,” she replies, and at that point he leaves because he really shouldn’t be doing this and he will faint, but —

But he smiles to himself all the way home.

He thinks he’s never looked forward to a final that much, and if she does really ask him out for coffee, no way he’s being an idiot and saying no.

And if he’ll brush up on cool embalming facts before then, well, you can’t blame him, right?

End.

[thesvenqueen]

Dark Knight

HAPPY CHRISTMAS IN JULY @moredibell! I am your secret santa!!

So, I ran with your Batman AU idea and I came up with this! It’s a bit odd having Kristoff as Batman but, hopefully I made it work character wise? Also, ignore the horrible, horrible title lol

A bit of background:

Anna is a reporter for the Daily Planet, recently moving to Gotham City just a little over a year before. Her first big story is that of Kristoff Bjorgman; the new CEO of Bjorgman industries and the largest industry in Gotham. Not much is known about him or his adoptive family. Only that a few years ago, his adoptive mother and father vanished without a trace, leaving the company to their only son, Kristoff. Before that, the family was very private, barely speaking to the media unless absolutely necessary.

While waiting for the interview at the mansion, Anna stumbles upon the mysterious Kristoff. She finds him having a wound being stitched by his family butler Olaf and his best friend and business partner Sven (a friendship started in grade school, and the only friend Kristoff really ever had) after a sticky situation with a couple of thugs. Cape on the floor and mask close beside it, Anna realizes who exactly she is dealing with. Sven catches her spying before she can run but, Anna boldly offers her help in aiding Kristoff.

It is then a new member was brought on to this ‘team’ of sorts, and there started the relationship between Anna Rendell & the Dark Knight.

This happens about a year after, hope you enjoy!!

For once she absolutely hates the drive to the mansion.

Most times, Anna would enjoy the surrounding hills, the winding roads that lead to a beautiful view above the city, letting her windows down as she enjoyed the long ride away from the hustle and bustle of Gotham; but today she despised it.

It was too long of a drive, not short enough, and she swore as she took a turn a bit too quickly and heard her tires squeal.

She had seen the headline from across the room at the gala,

“Batman vs. Joker: Joker Escapes Once Again”

Her heart was already thundering in her chest as she got close enough to her Lisa Cortez report from just a few blocks away, standing in front of a blocked off street,

“--witnesses say the fight was quick but the Joker ultimately got away once again, after yielding a knife in the latest altercation. One witness described seeing Batman struggle to get back to his vehicle, even falling at one point as he made his way back. Police advice local residents to stay in doors until the surrounding area can be cleared. Traffic has been--”

She started for the door before she could hear more. Movement across the room caught her eye as she saw Sven excuse himself and head for the nearest exit as well.

Their eyes meet for a moment and it is immediately understood where they were both heading.

In record time, the mansion came into view and she can vaguely spot a pair of dim lights in the woods behind the mansion slowly disappearing below the earth.

Pulling up to the front of the mansion, Anna slams on the brakes.

She takes the stairs three at a time, gasping as she reaches the door and Olaf (bless him) is already holding the door wide open for her.

The mansion is much less of a maze, as it had once been a few months before. Now, Anna can get through it blindfolded if need be and she is in the cave in meer minutes.

It’s there she spots him. A broken mess beside the car, clutching at his side.

He had tried to get out of the car, but had barely made it and was on the floor of the cave; Anna can tell he is struggling with every breath he takes and it is when he finally collapses completely to the floor that she moves.

She can see the blood before she reaches him.

Anna kneels beside him, taking in the scene as quickly as she can. Small cuts here and there, the cape torn in places, many cuts to his forearm guards. It’s the large gash that Kristoff still clutches that makes her pause. It is the worse she’s ever seen, his armor already soaked in blood.

“Anna”, he breathes and it is then she finally looks at his face. His eyes are barely opened, he is pouring sweat and he is looking at her in recognition but she can see his eyes glazing over.

Thinking fast, she grabs hold of the train of her dress, ripping it and beginning to wrap it around his wound.

“Ok Bjorgman, we gotta move.” She says, bringing his arm around her shoulder.

She struggles, trying desperately to pull him to his feet.

Footsteps echo across the cave and announce the arrival of Sven.

“What did you do now you lug?” He jokes, pulling Kristoff’s other arm around his shoulder and together they move him to the nearest table.

For a time, it seemed the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Anna had frantically began cleaning it at best she could, Olaf supplying anything and everything she needed. With shaky hands she sewed the wound together, watching his breathing as she did.

Finally, finally, he was stable. A few painkillers and bandages later, he lies on the table still.

It is just them now, Sven and Olaf leaving after Kristoff had calmed (Anna prayed to god they didn’t see the tears that were threatening to come the whole time he was on the table). It is just them and the sound of the nearby waterfall echoing through the cave.

“Your dress.” He says with a frown, feeling the material in his hands, eyeing the blood and large rip.

“What?...Oh,” Anna says, peering down, “It’s ok, I’ll...I’ll get a new one.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll get it.”

“Kristoff no. I bought it, I’ll get it.”

“And I ruined it by being bullheaded and nearly bleeding out.” Kristoff said, looking at her with a soft smile. “It’s my fault it’s ruined, so, I’ll get you a new one.”

“I..you..thanks.” Anna says, blushing as she finds the bandaging across his chest suddenly very interesting.

“You look beautiful by the way.”

Anna laughs, blowing a few wisps of hair from her eyes, “I’m sure the blood is a nice touch.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“No, not for that.” Anna eyes him, “Ok, yes I am sorry for that but...I meant..the gala...I know it meant a lot and you worked hard to get into it and--”

“It’s alright Kristoff.” Anna said, taking his hand. “It was boring anyways.”

“You’ve been talking about it for weeks,” Kristoff huffs a laugh, “I doubt it was boring.”

(In truth, Anna had been over the moon about the gala. It was the one thing she’d been dying to cover since coming to Gotham. The biggest names of the city came just to mingle, talk business over wine and champagne. It was the biggest party of the year and Anna, this year, had been chosen to cover it.

She had talked about it constantly, something she thought would annoy Kristoff to no end.

“It’s nothing but snobby rich people.”

“But there the biggest names in Gotham Kristoff! It’s a huge party.”

“Eh...it’s ok.”

“Wait...does that mean you’re going?”

Kristoff had paused, momentarily stopping in his tracing of her freckles along her back, “...maybe?”

Anna had turned over quickly then, squealing in excitement, “Oh this gala just got so much better!”

Kristoff smirked at her, “I thought you were already excited for it.”

“Yeah but now I know you’ll be there, and you’re going to wear a tux which is an added bonus!”

He chuckled then, “You like it when I dress up, huh?” leaning closer to her,

“Mhmm,” She giggled, biting her lip, “It’s very sexy.”

“And you’ll dress up too right?”

“Yeah,” she sighed as he kissed her neck.

“Mmm, maybe the gala won’t be so bad after all.”)

“...Ok, yeah...it wasn’t terribly boring and I did snag a few pictures, but still not all that exciting and glamorous like I thought plus...,” Anna pauses, biting her lip, “You weren’t there so, it wasn’t as fun.”

He squeezed her hand and Anna looked up.

“I’ll be at the next one.”

“No cape?”

“No cape.” Kristoff said with a grin, “Just a tux, and some roses.”

“Roses?”

“To go with your gown.”

Anna blushes bright red, looking down a their hands. “The press would have a field day with that one.”

“...and?”

Anna looks at him, confused.

All their time together, Kristoff made it a point to keep his life private. No matter what, nothing about his personal life went public. He kept very much to himself, as he and his family had done for so long. It was natural, easier that way he would say. Having people nosing around in his business, constantly trying to find the darkness in his past since he was brought into the family as a child, having grown adults working diligently to make him, a young boy, seem unfit to be apart of his family or discredit the family entirely; it was gross. The words people wrote, what they said, the lies they painted on so many things; he hated it.

He hated it all. So, he kept it all locked away in the mansion. Away from the public eye.

Their dates they had were in secret, discreet. Most were at his mansion, to make it easier on them. Anna never pestered him about it; she understood his hesitancy and distrust of the public.

But there was always a small bit of sadness deep inside on the fact they couldn’t hold hands in public, be seen talking too long, riding together in his car, venturing out for an ice cream cone; the normal cute date things Anna loved in her romance novels.

But this was not a knight in shining armor in a cute romance novel; this was the Dark Knight, this was Kristoff. Shy, quiet, unsure of the world and what it held but still so kind and full of love that Anna pushed the sadness aside.

Kristoff sits up, gasping as he does so. Anna moves to help but Kristoff grabs her hand once more and pulls her close. He leans against her lightly, his hands grasping her waist and as she settle hers on his shoulders.

For the millionth time she finds herself lost in his chocolate brown eyes.

“I don’t...I don’t want to be quiet anymore. Not about this.” He cups her cheek, “Not about something I care about.”

Anna smiles softly, “Kristoff--”

“I’ve been so...quiet, so shut away from people for so long and didn’t want to trust anyone but...you...you’ve helped me see the good. That there is still good in this crazy city. And I want people to see the woman that made me change, see how wonderful you are, see the good that I have in my life.” Kristoff smiles, “I want people to see the woman that I love.”

Anna giggles in excitment, tears threatening to come, “Are you sure?”

“Anna,” He whispers, “I’ve never been so sure in my life.”